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Books: Hypatia

C >> Charles Kingsley >> Hypatia




But he was a Jew, and a man: Hypatia was a Greek, and a woman--and
for that matter, so were the men of her school. To her, the
relations and duties of common humanity shone with none of the awful
and divine meaning which they did in the eyes of the converted Jew,
awakened for the first time in his life to know the meaning of his
own scriptures, and become an Israelite indeed. And Raphael's
dialectic, too, though it might silence her, could not convince her.
Her creed, like those of her fellow-philosophers, was one of the
fancy and the religious sentiment, rather than of the reason and the
moral sense. All the brilliant cloud-world in which she had
revelled for years,--cosmogonies, emanations, affinities,
symbolisms, hierarchies, abysses, eternities, and the rest of it--
though she could not rest in them, not even believe in, them--though
they had vanished into thin air at her most utter need,--yet--they
were too pretty to be lost sight of for ever; and, struggling
against the growing conviction of her reason, she answered at last--

'And you would have me give up, as you seem to have done, the
sublime, the beautiful, the heavenly, for a dry and barren chain of
dialectic--in which, for aught I know,--for after all, Raphael, I
cannot cope with you--I am a woman--a weak woman!'

And she covered her face with her hands.

'For aught you know, what?' asked Raphael gently.

'You may have made the worse appear the better reason.'

'So said Aristophanes of Socrates. But hear me once more, beloved
Hypatia. You refuse to give up the beautiful, the sublime, the
heavenly? What if Raphael Aben-Ezra, at least, had never found them
till now? Recollect what I said just now--what if our old
Beautiful, and Sublime, and Heavenly, had been the sheerest
materialism, notions spun by our own brains out of the impressions
of pleasant things, and high things, and low things, and awful
things, which we had seen with our bodily eyes? What if I had
discovered that the spiritual is not the intellectual, but the
moral; and that the spiritual world is not, as we used to make it, a
world of our own intellectual abstractions, or of our own physical
emotions, religious or other, but a world of righteous or
unrighteous persons? What if I had discovered that one law of the
spiritual world, in which all others were contained, was
righteousness; and that disharmony with that law, which we called
unspirituality, was not being vulgar, or clumsy, or ill-taught, or
unimaginative, or dull, but simply being unrighteous? What if I had
discovered that righteousness, and it alone, was the beautiful
righteousness, the sublime, the heavenly, the Godlike--ay, God
Himself? And what if it had dawned on me, as by a great sunrise,
what that righteousness was like? What if I had seen a human being,
a woman, too, a young weak girl, showing forth the glory and the
beauty of God? Showing me that the beautiful was to mingle
unshrinking, for duty's sake, with all that is most foul and
loathsome; that the sublime was to stoop to the most menial offices,
the most outwardly-degrading self-denials; that to be heavenly was
to know that the commonest relations, the most vulgar duties, of
earth, were God's commands, and only to be performed aright by the
help of the same spirit by which He rules the Universe; that
righteousness was to love, to help, to suffer for--if need be, to
die for--those who, in themselves, seem fitted to arouse no feelings
except indignation and disgust? What if, for the first time, I
trust not for the last time, in my life, I saw this vision; and at
the sight of it my eyes were opened, and I knew it for the likeness
and the glory of God? What if I, a Platonist, like John of Galilee,
and Paul of Tarsus, yet, like them, a Hebrew of the Hebrews, had
confessed to myself--If the creature can love thus, how much more
its archetype? If weak woman can endure thus, how much more a Son
of God? If for the good of others, man has strength to sacrifice
himself in part, God will have strength to sacrifice Himself
utterly. If He has not done it, He will do it: or He will be less
beautiful, less sublime, less heavenly, less righteous than my poor
conception of Him, ay, than this weak playful girl! Why should I
not believe those who tell me that He has done it already? What if
their evidence be, after all, only probability? I do not want
mathematical demonstration to prove to me that when a child was in
danger his father saved him--neither do I here. My reason, my
heart, every faculty of me, except this stupid sensuous experience,
which I find deceiving me every moment, which cannot even prove to
me my own existence, accepts that story of Calvary as the most
natural, most probable, most necessary of earthly events, assuming
only that God is a righteous Person, and not some dream of an all-
pervading necessary spirit-nonsense which, in its very terms,
confesses its own materialism.'

Hypatia answered with a forced smile.

'Raphael Aben-Ezra has deserted the method of the severe
dialectician for that of the eloquent lover.'

'Not altogether,' said he, smiling in return. 'For suppose that I
had said to myself, We Platonists agree that the sight of God is the
highest good.'

Hypatia once more shuddered at last night's recollections.

'And if He be righteous, and righteousness be--as I know it to be--
identical with love, then He will desire that highest good for men
far more than they can desire it for themselves .... Then He will
desire to show Himself and His own righteousness to them .... Will
you make answer, dearest Hypatia, or shall I? ....or does your
silence give consent? At least let me go on to say this, that if
God do desire to show His righteousness to men, His only perfect
method, according to Plato, will be that of calumny, persecution,
the scourge, and the cross, that so He, like Glaucon's righteous
man, may remain for ever free from any suspicion of selfish
interest, or weakness of endurance .... Am I deserting the
dialectic method now, Hypatia? .... You are still silent? You will
not hear me, I see .... At some future day, the philosopher may
condescend to lend a kinder ear to the words of her greatest debtor
.... Or, rather, she may condescend to hear, in her own heart, the
voice of that Archetypal Man, who has been loving her, guiding her,
heaping her with every perfection of body and of mind, inspiring her
with all pure and noble longings, and only asks of her to listen to
her own reason, her own philosophy, when they proclaim Him as the
giver of them, and to impart them freely and humbly, as He has
imparted them to her, to the poor, and the brutish, and the sinful,
whom He loves as well as He loves her .... Farewell!'

'Stay!' said she, springing up: 'whither are you going?'

'To do a little good before I die, having done much evil. To farm,
plant, and build, and rescue a little corner of Ormuzd's earth, as
the Persians would say, out of the dominion of Ahriman. To fight
Ausurian robbers, feed Thracian mercenaries, save a few widows from
starvation, and a few orphans from slavery .... Perhaps to leave
behind me a son of David's line, who will be a better Jew, because a
better Christian, than his father .... We shall have trouble in the
flesh, Augustine tells us .... But, as I answered him, I really
have had so little thereof yet, that my fair share may probably be
rather a useful education than otherwise. Farewell!'

'Stay!' said she. 'Come again!--again! And her .... Bring her ....
I must see her! She must be noble, indeed, to be worthy of you.'

'She is many a hundred miles away.'

'Ah! Perhaps she might have taught something to me--me, the
philosopher! You need not have feared me .... I have no heart to
make converts now .... Oh, Raphael Aben-Ezra, why break the bruised
reed? My plans are scattered to the winds, my pupils worthless, my
fair name tarnished, my conscience heavy with the thought of my own
cruelty .... If you do not know all, you will know it but too soon
.... My last hope, Synesius, implores for himself the hope which I
need from him....And, over and above it all .... You! .... Et tu,
Brute! Why not fold my mantle round me, like Julius of old, and
die!'

Raphael stood looking sadly at her, as her whole face sank into
utter prostration.
...............

'Yes--come .... The Galilaean .... If He conquers strong men, can
the weak maid resist Him? Come soon .... This afternoon .... My
heart is breaking fast.'

'At the eighth hour this afternoon?'

'Yes .... At noon I lecture .... take my farewell, rather, for ever
of the schools....Gods! What have I to say? .... And tell me about
Him of Nazareth. Farewell!'

'Farewell, beloved lady! At the ninth hour, you shall hear of Him of
Nazareth.'

Why did his own words sound to him strangely pregnant, all but
ominous? He almost fancied that not he, but some third person had
spoken them. He kissed Hypatia's hand, it was as cold as ice; and
his heart, too, in spite of all his bliss, felt cold and heavy, as
he left the room.

As he went down the steps into the street, a young man sprang from
behind one of the pillars, and seized his arm.

'Aha! my young Coryphaeus of pious plunderers! What do you want
with me?'

Philammon, for it was he, looked at him an instant, and recognised
him.

'Save her! for the love of God, save her!'

'Whom?'

'Hypatia!'

'How long has her salvation been important to you, my good friend?'

'For God's sake,' said Philammon, 'go back and warn her! She will
hear you--you are rich--you used to be her friend--I know you--I
have heard of you .... Oh, if you ever cared for her--if you ever
felt for her a thousandth part of what I feel--go in and warn her
not to stir from home!'

'I must hear more of this,' said Raphael, who saw that the boy was
in earnest. 'Come in with me, and speak to her father.'

'No! not in that house! Never in that house again! Do not ask me
why: but go yourself. She will not hear me. Did you--did you
prevent her from listening?'

'What do you mean?'

'I have been here--ages! I sent a note in by her maid, and she
returned no answer.'

Raphael recollected then, for the first time, a note which he had
seen brought to her during the conversation.

'I saw her receive a note. She tossed it away. Tell me your story.
If there is reason in it, I will bear your message myself. Of what
is she to be warned?'

'Of a plot--I know that there is a plot--against her among the monks
and Parabolani. As I lay in bed this morning in Arsenius's room--
they thought I was asleep--'

'Arsenius? Has that venerable fanatic, then, gone the way of all
monastic flesh, and turned persecutor?'

'God forbid! I heard him beseeching Peter the Reader to refrain
from something, I cannot tell what; but I caught her name .... I
heard Peter say, "She that hindereth will hinder till she be taken
out of the way." And when he went out into the passage I heard him
say to another, "That thou doest, do quickly! ...."'

'These are slender grounds, my friend.'

'Ah, you do not know of what those men are capable!'

'Do I not? Where did you and I meet last?'

Philammon blushed and burst forth again. 'That was enough for me.
I know the hatred which they bear her, the crimes which they
attribute to her. Her house would have been attacked last night had
it not been for Cyril .... And I knew Peter's tone. He spoke too
gently and softly not to mean something devilish. I watched all the
morning for an opportunity of escape, and here I am!--Will you take
my message, or see her--'

'What?'

'God only knows, and the devil whom they worship instead of God.'

Raphael hurried back into the house--'Could he see Hypatia?' She
had shut herself up in her private room, strictly commanding that no
visitor should be admitted .... 'Where was Theon, then?' He had
gone out by the canal gate half an hour before, with a bundle of
mathematical papers under his arm, no one knew whither ....
'Imbecile old idiot!' and he hastily wrote on his tablet-

'Do not despise the young monk's warning. I believe him to speak
the truth. As you love yourself and your father, Hypatia, stir not
out to-day.'

He bribed a maid to take the message upstairs; and passed his time
in the hall in warning the servants. But they would not believe
him. It was true the shops were shut in some quarters, and the
Museum gardens empty; people were a little frightened after
yesterday. But Cyril, they had heard for certain, had threatened
excommunication only last night to any Christian who broke the
peace; and there had not been a monk to be seen in the streets the
whole morning. And as for any harm happening to their mistress--
impossible! 'The very wild beasts would not tear her,' said the huge
negro porter, 'if she was thrown into the amphitheatre.'

--Whereat a maid boxed his ears for talking of such a thing; and
then, by way of mending it, declared that she knew for certain that
her mistress could turn aside the lightning, and call legions of
spirits to fight for her with a nod .... What was to be done with
such idolaters? And yet who could help liking them the better for
it?

At last the answer came down, in the old graceful, studied, self-
conscious handwriting.

'It is a strange way of persuading me to your new faith, to bid me
beware, on the very first day of your preaching, of the wickedness
of those who believe it. I thank you: but your affection for me
makes you timorous. I dread nothing. They will not dare. Did they
dare now, they would have dared long ago. As for that youth--to
obey or to believe his word, even to seem aware of his existence,
were shame to me henceforth. Because he is insolent enough to warn
me therefore I will go. Fear not for me. You would not wish me, for
the first time in my life, to fear for myself. I must follow my
destiny. I must speak the words which I have to speak. Above all,
I must let no Christian say, that the philosopher dared less than
the fanatic. If my Gods are Gods, then will they protect me: and if
not, let your God prove His rule as seems to Him good.'

Raphael tore the letter to fragments .... The guards, at least,
were not gone mad like the rest of the world. It wanted half an
hour of the time of her lecture. In the interval he might summon
force enough to crush all Alexandria. And turning suddenly, he
darted out of the room and out of the house.

'Quem Deus vult perdere-!' cried he to Philammon, with a gesture of
grief. 'Stay here and stop her!--make a last appeal! Drag the
horses' heads down, if you can! I will be back in ten minutes.'
And he ran off for the nearest gate of the Museum gardens.

On the other side of the gardens lay the courtyard of the palace.
There were gates in plenty communicating between them. If he could
but see Orestes, even alarm the guard in time! ....

And he hurried through the walks and alcoves, now deserted by the
fearful citizens, to the nearest gate. It was fast, and barricaded
firmly on the outside.

Terrified, he ran on to the next; it was barred also. He saw the
reason in a moment, and maddened as he saw it. The guards, careless
about the Museum, or reasonably fearing no danger from the
Alexandrian populace to the glory and wonder of their city, or
perhaps wishing wisely enough to concentrate their forces in the
narrowest space, had contented themselves with cutting off all
communication with the gardens, and so converting the lofty
partition-wall into the outer enceinte of their marble citadel. At
all events, the doors leading from the Museum itself might be open.
He knew them every one, every hall, passage, statue, picture, almost
every book in that vast treasure-house of ancient civilisation. He
found an entrance; hurried through well-known corridors to a postern
through which he and Orestes had lounged a hundred times, their lips
full of bad words, their hearts of worse thoughts, gathered in those
records of the fair wickedness of old .... It was fast. He beat
upon it but no one answered. He rushed on and tried another. No
one answered there. Another--still silence and despair! .... He
rushed upstairs, hoping that from the windows above he might be able
to call to the guard. The prudent soldiers had locked and
barricaded the entrances to the upper floors of the whole right
wing, lest the palace court should be commanded from thence.
Whither now? Back--and whither then? Back, round endless
galleries, vaulted halls, staircases, doorways, some fast, some
open, up and down, trying this way and that, losing himself at
whiles in that enormous silent labyrinth. And his breath failed
him, his throat was parched, his face burned as with the simoom
wind, his legs were trembling under him. His presence of mind,
usually so perfect, failed him utterly. He was baffled, netted;
there was a spell upon him. Was it a dream? Was it all one of
those hideous nightmares of endless pillars beyond pillars, stairs
above stairs, rooms within rooms, changing, shifting, lengthening
out for ever and for ever before the dreamer, narrowing, closing in
on him, choking him? Was it a dream? Was he doomed to wander for
ever and for ever in some palace of the dead, to expiate the sin
which he had learnt and done therein? His brain, for the first time
in his life, began to reel. He could recollect nothing but that
something dreadful was to happen--and that he had to prevent it, and
could not .... Where was he now? In a little by-chamber .... He
had talked with her there a hundred times, looking out over the
Pharos and the blue Mediterranean .... What was that roar below? A
sea of weltering yelling heads, thousands on thousands, down to the
very beach; and from their innumerable throats one mighty war-cry--
'God, and the mother of God!' Cyril's hounds were loose .... He
reeled from the window, and darted frantically away again ....
whither, he knew not, and never knew until his dying day.

And Philammon? .... Sufficient for the chapter, as for the day, is
the evil thereof.



CHAPTER XXVIII: WOMAN'S LOVE


Pelagia had passed that night alone in sleepless sorrow, which was
not diminished by her finding herself the next morning palpably a
prisoner in her own house. Her girls told her that they had orders
--they would not say from whom--to prevent her leaving her own
apartments. And though some of them made the announcement with
sighs and tears of condolence, yet more than one, she could see, was
well inclined to make her feel that her power was over, and that
there were others besides herself who might aspire to the honour of
reigning favourite.

What matter to her? Whispers, sneers, and saucy answers fell on her
ear unheeded. She had one idol, and she had lost it; one power, and
it had failed her. In the heaven above, and in the earth beneath,
was neither peace, nor help, nor hope; nothing but black, blank,
stupid terror and despair. The little weak infant soul, which had
just awakened in her, had been crushed and stunned in its very
birth-hour; and instinctively she crept away to the roof of the
tower where her apartments were, to sit and weep alone.

There she sat, hour after hour, beneath the shade of the large
windsail, which served in all Alexandrian houses the double purpose
of a shelter from the sun and a ventilator for the rooms below; and
her eye roved carelessly over that endless sea of roofs and towers,
and masts, and glittering canals, and gliding boats; but she saw
none of them--nothing but one beloved face, lost, lost for ever.

At last a low whistle roused her from her dream. She looked up.
Across the narrow lane, from one of the embrasures of the opposite
house-parapet bright eyes were peering at her. She moved angrily to
escape them.

The whistle was repeated, and a head rose cautiously above the
parapet .... It was Miriam's. Casting a careful look around,
Pelagia went forward. What could the old woman want with her?

Miriam made interrogative signs, which Pelagia understood as asking
her whether she was alone; and the moment that an answer in the
negative was returned, Miriam rose, tossed over to her feet a letter
weighted with a pebble, and then vanished again.

'I have watched here all day! They refused me admittance below.
Beware of Wulf, of every one. Do not stir from your chamber. There
is a plot to carry you off to-night, and give you up to your brother
the monk; you are betrayed; be brave!'

Pelagia read it with blanching cheek and staring eyes; and took, at
least, the last part of Miriam's advice. For walking down the stair,
she passed proudly through her own rooms, and commanding back the
girls who would have stayed her, with a voice and gesture at which
they quailed, went straight down, the letter in her hand, to the
apartment where the Amal usually spent his mid-day hours.

As she approached the door, she heard loud voices within ....
His!--yes; but Wulf's also. Her heart failed her, and she stopped
a moment to listen .... She heard Hypatia's name; and mad with
curiosity, crouched down at the lock, and hearkened to every word.

'She will not accept me, Wulf.'

'If she will not, she shall go farther and fare worse. Besides, I
tell you, she is hard run. It is her last chance, and she will jump
at it. The Christians are mad with her; if a storm blows up, her
life is not worth--that!'

'It is a pity that we have not brought her hither already.'

'It is; but we could not. We must not break with Orestes till the
palace is in our hands.'

'And will it ever be in our hands, friend?'

'Certain. We were round at every picquet last night, and the very
notion of an Amal's heading them made them so eager, that we had
to bribe them to be quiet rather than to rise.'

'Odin! I wish I were among them now!'

'Wait till the city rises. If the day pass over without a riot, I
know nothing. The treasure is all on board, is it not?'

'Yes, and the galleys ready. I have been working like a horse at
them all the morning, as you would let me do nothing else. And
Goderic will not be back from the palace, you say, till nightfall!'

'If we are attacked first, we are to throw up a fire signal to him,
and he is to come off hither with what Goths he can muster. If the
palace is attacked first, he is to give us the signal, and we are to
pack up and row round thither. And in the meanwhile he is to make
that hound of a Greek prefect as drunk as he can.'

'The Greek will see him under the table. He has drugs, I know, as
all these Roman rascals have, to sober him when he likes; and then
he sets to work and drinks again. Send off old Smid, and let him
beat the armourer if he can.'

'A very good thought!' said Wulf, and came out instantly for the
purpose of putting it in practice.

Pelagia had just time to retreat into an adjoining doorway: but she
had heard enough; and as Wulf passed, she sprang to him and caught
him by the arm.

'Oh, come in hither! Speak to me one moment; for mercy's sake speak
to me!' and she drew him, half against his will, into the chamber,
and throwing herself at his feet, broke out into a childlike wail.

Wulf stood silent, utterly discomfited by this unexpected
submission, where he had expected petulant and artful resistance.
He almost felt guilty and ashamed, as he looked down into that
beautiful imploring face, convulsed with simple sorrow, as of a
child for a broken toy. .... At last she spoke.

'Oh, what have I done-what have I done? Why must you take him from
me? What have I done but love him, honour him, worship him? I know
you love him; and I love you for it.--I do indeed! But you--what is
your love to mine? Oh, I would die for him--be torn in pieces for
him--now, this moment! ....

Wulf was silent.

'What have I done but love him? What could I wish but to make him
happy? I was rich enough, praised, and petted; .... and then he
came, .... glorious as he is, like a god among men--among apes
rather--and I worshipped him: was I wrong in that? I gave up all
for him: was I wrong in that? I gave him myself: what could I do
more? He condescended to like me--he the hero! Could I help
submitting? I loved him: could I help loving him? Did I wrong him
in that? Cruel, cruel Wulf! ....'

Wulf was forced to be stern, or he would have melted at once.

'And what was your love worth to him? What has it done for him? It
has made him a sot, an idler, a laughing-stock to these Greek dogs,
when he might have been their conqueror, their king. Foolish woman,
who cannot see that your love has been his bane, his ruin! He, who
ought by now to have been sitting upon the throne of the Ptolemies,
the lord of all south of the Mediterranean--as he shall be still!'

Pelagia looked tip at him wide-eyed, as if her mind was taking in
slowly some vast new thought, under the weight of which it reeled
already. Then she rose slowly.

'And he might be Emperor of Africa.'

'And be shall be; but not--'

'Not with me!' she almost shrieked. 'No! not with wretched,
ignorant, polluted me! I see--oh God, I see it all! And this is why
you want him to marry her--her--'